Rebuilding From Scratch
by dearfranny
Summary: Trucy has a fever. Phoenix takes care of her. In the meantime, he is haunted by memories, of how things were, and how they've changed.
1. Trucy's Fever and Phoenix's Beer

Phoenix heard the soft beeping of the electric thermometer. Standing up, he stifled a yawn, trying not to wake Trucy. He walked slowly to the sofa she lay on, trying to walk around the little things scattered around the floor, hoping not to step on anything. He tried to find a path in the wreckage that was once his office—that was once his life.

Trucy's things lay on the floor, so did a few of the cushions Maya gave him, round and flat like the traditional ones they sat on in Hazakurain, albeit less moth-eaten and certainly store-bought. Nostalgia nearly took over, but the thermometer was waiting. They were useful—those cushions; the office didn't have a dining table, and Maya's cushions combined with the coffee table gave him and Trucy a place to eat. He nudged the cushions to the side with his foot. He stopped at the doorway, blinked a few times, and sighed. He pushed the coffee table out of his way for more leg room, then turned it to the side so it would be against the wall. He miscalculated, pushed too hard, and it collided with the drawer, sending dust and a few papers falling. Trucy started coughing, waking up from the noise.

"Rearranging the furniture again, Daddy?" she said.

"Sort of," he replied.

The office felt smaller than he once thought, and perhaps it would seem even more cluttered the older Trucy becomes. The thought scared him. It was closing in on him. Getting smaller and smaller, with the ceiling slowly sinking in to crush him in his own home.

_Home._ The word home reverberated in his skull, sunk into his blank mind. This was his home now, he realized. This office is his home. It dawned on him for the first time. The office is his home and Trucy is his daughter.

"It's beeping," she said, then stifled a yawn. "Those pills made me sleepy."

The office is his home, and no longer an office. His files and folders are crammed into a box, his books piled up in places; corners, under the table, a lucky few remaining on the shelf where it's not crammed with groceries or clothing or Trucy's school supplies.

Trucy turned to the side. "Daddy?" She looked up at Phoenix. "Is there something wrong-"

He lives here now, barely able to pay the rent because... Of a lot of things. He was no longer working. He has to support a child. His savings are wasting away, and heck—they weren't a lot to begin with. And he was still in recovery from the shock—he was no longer an attorney. That thought hurt him. He has no credibility. He knew that. He will never be remembered as a legend, as "Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney." Not anymore. He would be known as a promising young lawyer, whose career ended when he was found out a fraud. It was over. The office was a shell of what once was. He was scared that he was like that too; a shell. Cluttered up and a mess inside. He wasn't worth anything anymore, he thought. All he can do is find a reason to keep living, and stay alive.

"-Daddy?" Trucy said.

_Daddy._ The office is his home, and Trucy is his daughter. _Trucy is his daughter._ He has a daughter now. Oh, how things have changed, and how fast has it happened, he thought to himself.

"D-Daddy? Is there something wrong? Am I gonna be okay?" Trucy stuttered. She seemed to be panicked, for some reason. "Daddy, why are you afraid?"

"They tend to do that—make you sleepy. It means they're working. And I'm not scared at all. I'm just—just thinking." Phoenix took a deep breath and let it out slowly to relax. He walked over to the side of the sofa, and knelt in front of it. Trucy was playing with the thermometer, pressing a few buttons. It stopped beeping. "Hand it to me and let me see."

"M'kay."

"Okay... Let's see here. There's no numbers.." He pressed the button again. It beeped, and the screen displayed "ON" in light green lines. "Trucy.. I think you turned it off."

"Mm.." Trucy's eyes were closed, and she was breathing slowly, nearly falling asleep. "What..?"

"C'mon, stay awake long enough for me to take your temperature." Phoenix gave the thermometer's button a long press. "Truce, say "ahh."

"Haaah..." Phoenix placed the thermometer in her mouth, then got the dishtowel off her forehead. It was warm, warmer than usual. He rinsed it in the bowl, then fished out another towel pinned under a can of beer he placed there to cool. He wrung it and placed it back it. "Mm. Hey daddy-"

"Yeah?" Phoenix said. "Don't talk too much and don't bite the thermometer."

"I like the nickname."

"Truce?"

"Yeah."

"It sounds pretty good. I'm gonna call you that, sometimes."

"Yeah.." Trucy said. She yawned. "I'll go take a nap..."

"That's what you've been doing the past two days," Phoenix said. He picked up the dishtowel in the bowl of ice-water, replaced the one on Trucy's forehead, then got a pillow that was lying on the ground, discarded. "Sleeping helps."

Phoenix set the bowl down on the floor. "I'm not getting better." Trucy complained. He sat down on the floor next to it, and leaned on the sofa edge, using the pillow to make his back comfortable.

"Not_ yet,_ Trucy, not yet," Phoenix said. He poked the ice in the bowl with his finger and watched it swoosh around a little and bump into the can of beer. "You'll get better eventually."

One beer. Not too much; as to keep him sober, but enough to hopefully get rid of the stress associated with taking care of a sick child.

Phoenix remembered the time he used to buy some wine to dull the pain. His choice of alcohol got cheaper and cheaper, until he decided to stop. It didn't matter much anymore, though. He barely drank, and he only drank then to dull things a little during times like these; silent times, when his thoughts wandered and repeatedly stabbed him brutally in the back. He used to sit in the place least changed by Trucy moving in—his old desk. The papers were ruffled, the pens not in their usual place, but it still looked familiar to him. There were certain times when Trucy was sound asleep on the sofa, and his futon was unoccupied. He would sit there at night, in his old desk, with most people in the city asleep and the others awake, doing what they do, living their lives, and Phoenix would think about them, about what things are like and about what things were like, and he would drink, and think some more. He would think "What if?" and "How come?" and "Why?" as he wallows in self-pity and slowly marinates his liver in alcohol. And at first Trucy never noticed the hangovers he got, since for a while everything seemed dark and lonesome to him, and Phoenix acted as such, as resume after resume got turned down, with each potential employer giving him "the look," and maybe going "This is Phoenix Wright?" in their heads, Phoenix silently cursed his fame and bad reputation. It's either Trucy never noticed his depression, which Phoenix doubts, or she felt that it would help if she pretended not to. Trucy was sensitive like that, Phoenix knew. She reads him like a book, and he knows that fact better than anyone. Probably she knew about his drinking getting worse. Discarded cans, bottles in a plastic bag for recycling, all reeking of alcohol and his misery, outside the complex, in the trashcans. She knew it was getting bad, Phoenix thought.

But that never happened anymore. His mind slowly calmed, and his emotions slowly numbed, and he soon got busy doing odd jobs so he had to sleep early so he could wake up in time for whatever work was up to him to do. The pain never left, but he learned to handle it, or was too tired to feel it, and too busy for his thoughts to come after him. Money was hard to come by, so he worked more part-time stints to make up for it. He was tired. Too tired to get drunk and wallow in self-pity. And that was a good thing.

Phoenix woke up from his internal monolouge when he heard the thermometer's high-pitched beep. He reached up to tap Trucy on the leg, waking her up just enough for her to hand him the thermometer. She plucked it from her mouth and clumsily handed it to him. Her arm hung from the sofa to the floor, and she was too asleep to care about it. Phoenix knew before looking at the thing that Trucy's fever is still there. And when he did take a look, he was sure that it hadn't gone down. Luckily, the girl's temperature had stayed more or less the same. He took another wet towel and wrung it, then reached up to place it on Trucy's face.

"D-Daddy! C-Cold! It's on my face!"

"Sorry to wake you, Truce. Place it on your forehead and give me the other one."

"M'kay," she said. She groped around her face to get rid of the cold towel. "I've got a headache."

"I hope you don't have trouble getting back to sleep, then," he replied. Trucy threw the other towel lazily, and it landed on Phoenix's hair. "Hey," he said with a laugh.

"Revenge," Trucy giggled. "Ow.."

"What is it?"

"My head hurts more when I laugh," she said. "I'll go sleep more."

"Sleep well, Trucy."

"M-hmm," she said, and Trucy drifted back to cold-medicine aided sleep.

Phoenix took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He felt tired. Not just tired, but also worried. Trucy's fever didn't seem to go down, and something that seemed like a bad cold is turning into something worse. He reached into the bowl and took out his beer. It was cold. He wiped the water off with his shirt, then stared at it. He barely ever drank anymore, and he knew that was a good thing. It was the first good thing he had done for himself since his big screwup. And he felt good about it, even though he had nothing to numb him when he felt miserable.

It was a waste of money, and he knew Trucy needs that money more than he does. Emotions exist to guide us in our decisions, Phoenix believed. This pain he felt—he should live with it. Let it break him. He needed it to. He deserved it. He made a mistake, it changed his life and he should live with it. The mistake will change him too, gradually. Who he was, not what he ate and how he lived. The mistake would change _him,_ the way it changed everything around him.

And he felt like he was beginning to change.

And with that thought, Phoenix clicked open his can of beer, and took a long swig.

And so, for the first time in a short time, alcohol will slowly start marinating his liver once more.

* * *

- Author's Notes: I hope you read and review. There's gonna be more to this, I hope. I'm still new to this. I hope you like my writing style and help me improve.


	2. Memories of Maya

Author's Notes: Hello, reader. Uh.. Hi! Please read all of it and review! I like reviews.

* * *

He savored his beer. He never really liked the taste, but he liked the way it made him feel. Leaning against the sofa, he closed his eyes. Memories flooded back, and instead of pushing them away, he let them flood. The office, the clients, all those investigations... The courtroom, the sheer thrill of almost getting the wrong verdict, and maybe even..Her. "Maya," he thought. Mia's sister, his assistant, new Master of Kurain. Memories brought him back to those moment when they would run around a crime scene, during a seemingly hopeless case. He remembered secrets kept between the two of them, inside jokes. He remembered the last time the two of them had fun—her birthday.

* * *

She treated him and the rest to dinner on her twentieth birthday—about a few months before his disbarment. As the newly crowned head of Kurain, she had cash, and she wasn't too keen on spending too much. They celebrated here, all nice and simple, in this office, with all sorts of snacks and food—and of course, burgers from Maya's favorite joint. "Larry got drunk with Gumshoe, Miles—I mean,_ Edgeworth _got "tipsy.." We were all playing a drinking game, and I had no intention of losing... Maya joined in the fun despite her being underage..." Phoenix reminisced. He sighed. It was fun, that day.

"Please, Wright. Don't call me Miles..." Edgeworth said. He pointed to Phoenix, the angle a few degrees off. His face was flushed, his bangs sticking to his forehead from sweat. "Edgeworth. I repeat. Edge-worth."

"We're not in the courtroom, Miles," Phoenix replied. "C'mon guys. Round what? Twenty.. Seven?"

"But this is a compe-" Edgeworth hiccuped, took a deep breath, and continued. "A _competition,_ Wright! A competition!"

"Call him Edgey-poo~!" Larry quipped, punching him on the shoulder then putting his arm around his neck. He leaned into him then whispered loudly into his ear, "We all know she's got the hots for you... Tee-hee~!"

"Don't you dare remind me of that old stalker woman!" Edgeworth screamed. "And get your lips away from my ear! Ughh.. Are you drunk already? Don't breath on my neck!"

"Oooh.. Men are into you too now~!" Maya sqweals. "M-hmm.. Edgey-poo~! You're getting pretty into it too, aren't ya?" Maya toddles toward him, taking his other arm.

"What the hell, Maya, what the hell?" Phoenix said. "Pfft.. Miles, you're blushing."

"Shut up!" Edgeworth said. Larry grabbed him harder and pressed his body against him, letting out weird sounds. The door opened, and he turned. "Oh. Gumshoe's here. And get the hell _off _me, GOD!"

"Thanks for the help, Scruffy," she sighed and took a look around the room. Franziska von Karma marched in holding a paper bag in one hand and her whip in the other. She paused, taking in what she was seeing. "What in the world are you_ DOING_, you foolish fool?" She handed Gumshoe her bag and cracked her whip. "Miles Edgeworth!"

"It's not... I can explain!" Edgeworth screamed. Franziska stepped forward, threatening to whip. Larry realized her presence and let go.

"Franzy! Hello, baby!" He lunged at her with arms wide open, an attempt at an embrace. Franziska took a few steps back, and Larry crashed to the ground. Franziska whipped his back. "Hey! Oww.."

"Damn this. I thought I wouldn't have to use my whip in such an occasion," she mumbled.

"Ohh yeah! Hit me baby, one more time!" Larry screamed.

"Disgusting fool." She walked around him. "And happy birthday, Miss Fey."

"Hey, thanks!" Maya let go of Edgeworth and walked away to shake her hand, like nothing happened. "Miss von Karma! Join us! You too, Detective Gumshoe! Maggey!"

"I-I'll pass, sir!" Maggey shouts. She grabs a small box wrapped in Christmas colors. "This is my gift.. I'll just leave it here."

"Help yourself to the food!" Phoenix shouts. "There's more to come.. I ordered pizza!" He stumbled off to get paper plates and utensils, as well as look for a few more shotglasses for the new players of their stupid game.

"Aren't we both underage?" Franziska says. "And alcohol isn't the best for your health."

Gumshoe walked over to the rest, taking a burger with him. "It's her birthday! Loosen up!"

"Is that so?" Franziska smiled. "My alcohol tolerance is above par. Bring it on."

* * *

It was fun, that day. He smiled to himself. More guests came, and Maya had to call Pearl telling her that she'll be out longer than she expected to. That day, he saw Larry attempting to grope Franziska's breasts, Franziska kneeing him in the crotch, watching most of them getting drunk, cake on their cheeks, laughter, food, and Maya's smile. Then one by one, they left. Gumshoe and Maggey, Edgeworth, Larry, you name them, until only Maya and Phoenix were left.

"Maya, you shouldn't go," he told her. "You're drunk."

"Why? I'm pretty sober—at least enough to make it home in one piece. " she said. "Heck, the coffee sure helped.. I'm stable enough to walk in a straight-ish line.."

"Even though. It's dangerous at night," Phoenix insisted. "Besides, we used to do this. Just like old times?"

"Yeah, like old times." Maya smiled at him. "But the room's a mess. Let's get cleaning."

And so, Maya stayed. He got the spare futon he kept in the office for all-nighters, Maya looked for some spare blankets. It was late afternoon, and the party-like atmosphere was slowly fading. They swept the floor, Phoenix took out the trash, Maya wiped the coffee table and got crumbs off the sofa... They fixed the office up, and just like old times, it was him and his assistant, in the office, busy doing whatever had to be done.

* * *

"I wish you didn't have to stay in Kurain so much, y'know," Phoenix said. He got a dish sponge and soaped up a glass.

"It's hard to manage a village when I'm so far away," she replied. "Hand me that plate."

"Sure." Phoenix gave her the plate. He rinsed the glass, then placed it on a rack. "Hey.. Look who's turned twenty! Congrats, Maya."

"Hm?"

"I wasn't able to greet you properly earlier, with all that fuss about your birthday and the festivities. So yeah. Happy birthday, and may you have many years to come," he says. He stops washing dishes and smiles. "Happy birthday, Maya."

"T-Thanks," she says. Phoenix stares at her for a moment, noticing a slight blush. He didn't think too much about it. Perhaps she was flattered.

They finished cleaning, and there was still a lot of time before nightfall. Maya plopped down at the sofa and sighed. "It's over! We're finally done cleaning!" she said.

Phoenix sat next to her. "Y'know, I realized that it actually is a good idea to place the TV on top of the receptionist desk."

Maya perked up when she realized that the TV was indeed sitting on the desk. "You followed my advice."

"It's a good idea. There's the sofa, and it's not too against the window, and the clients don't mind, for some reason." Phoenix smiled. "That was one heck of a birthday party ealier."

"Yeah. It's a good thing I didn't bring Pearl along."

"I sure wish Iris were here with us, y'know. She was more or less the only one missing at the party."

"Yeah. Iris," Maya said. She thought for a while, then continued. "Any plans on getting her out?"

"Dunno. She seems to want to do her time," he said. "There's a lot of things I want to ask her. But I don't know. I don't think I can just barge in her cell and ask her everything."

"Do you still love her?"

"I love her as a friend—I love you as a friend, too."

"But as more than that?"

"Iris? I don't know. I didn't date Iris _as_ _Iris_, you know what I mean?" Phoenix turned away from Maya and looked out the window. "And time does things to feelings like that. Sometimes feelings grow, sometimes they fade. And that case, the one when Dahlia was convicted—it wasn't the right kind of goodbye. I'm confused, in a way."

The sun has almost fully set, he realized. Phoenix faced her again. "And me?" Maya said. She looked down, at her lap, her hands wringing her skirt.

"Y-You?" he said.

"Yes," was her curt reply. "Me."

"I-I... Maya!" Phoenix blushed and looked away.

"Don't dodge." Maya grabbed his sleeve. "You didn't buy me a birthday present."

"Damn," he sarcastically said.

"So gimme an answer, Nick," she said in a light voice.

The two were silent for a moment. No one moved, no one spoke, not a single word. It was almost like the office has frozen, like it was separate from the rest of the world. Maya looked up, and stared at Phoenix. He met her gaze, and he couldn't break her stare. Her face was flushed, the shadows on her cheeks darker, and the light reflected in her rich orange. The sun has fully set, the orange he saw must be the remnants of light of this afternoon. The two sat silently, staring at each other. Finally, Maya broke the silence. "Do you love me as more than that?"

"I-I don't know."

"Maybe..If..." Maya leaned forward, put her hand on his cheek. "Maybe if you kiss me, you'll know. And.. I think I like you as more than a friend, a little. But.. I'm not sure, so.."

"M-Maya?"

"I'll be back in Kurain soon. And I'll be too busy to get back here for at least half a year." She sighs. "I want to know for sure—if I really do like you, and if there's a chance that.. You know, you can feel this way about me too. I don't want to be alone."

"Maya. Why?"

"Think of it as a birthday gift, Nick."

"Okay," he said. Maya came closer, and their lips met. The two separated, but Maya still kept her hand on his cheek.

"Thank you, Nick," she whispered. "Really."

"You're welcome, Maya," he whispered back. "Happy birthday."

* * *

He sighed as he stood up to throw away the empty can. He glances at his watch. It has been almost twenty minutes. Time to check Trucy's temperature again.


	3. Crying is Okay

Author's Notes: Please read and review! I love reviews.. There are more chapters to come, so please stay tuned.

"Truce," Phoenix said, "time to check again." He sighed deeply, then stood up, using the edge of the sofa for leverage. He pressed the button and it beeped quietly.

"I'm still not feeling better," she complained. She pushed her bangs away with her hand. She was sweating lightly for some reason, and Phoenix felt that it was a good sign.

"You will," he replied. "Say ahh."

"Ahh," she obediently said, as Phoenix placed the thermometer in her mouth. He got the towel off her forehead, reached down in the bowl to replace it, and plopped another colder towel on her forehead. She closed her eyes, and fell back to sleep.

"Good," he said. "Sleep well." Phoenix sat back down the floor, leaning on the side of the sofa. He took in the room from this angle. It looked messier, with all the little things that fell in full frontal view. An old set of keys, maybe to one of Mia's drawers; a plastic fork that probably fell when he was cleaning up their lunch, instant noodles; a small folded pajama-bottom, light pink—probably Trucy's. He saw a few empty boxes of some snack, and folded on top, a small blue dishtowel, the same sort of towel on Trucy's forehead. Three at the price of one if you bought eight packs of this new chocolate covered pretzel stick snack. It was a bargain, maybe. And the snack was good. Phoenix saw a small mess of crumbs, a few cracked pieces, splintered on the floor—perhaps someone stepped on it. Maybe Trucy. He sighed at the thought of sweeping them up later on, then sighed again at the memory of the time there was someone doing the cleaning_ for _him, and of how long ago that time felt.

Phoenix realized that the mess of a room was precious to him, in a way. A museum, of sorts, for all those times he spent as a hopeful young attorney; for all those inside jokes with friends, for all the times he scolded Maya hitting him with a broom while pretending to be a samurai, for each of Mia's pop-quizzes and the times she'd treat him to drinks if he got them right. Mia Fey; a beautiful woman. Taken way before her time. Phoenix sighed. He missed her too, and for the first time in a while, her death haunted him and filled him with thoughts of what could have been. Mia could have been more successful than Grossberg, times ten, and she knew that quite well, too. The many rooms of the office she gave him testify to that fact. Phoenix never really cried that much when he lost his mentor; perhaps he never got a chance to mourn her. Case after case, Mia was there, whether channeled my Maya or by Pearl. He knew she'd be there as long as he was with Maya. It was only now that her death finally sunk in. Phoenix realized that never again would he speak to Mia Fey. He felt tears welling up in his eyes as he remembered Mia, and that time he promised her that he'd become someone worth looking up to. She knew he was a hard worker, who never gave up how matter how bleak the circumstance. Above all she believed that he was a good person. She really did believe. Phoenix cringed.

"Look at me now, Boss," he said to no one in particular. The memories pinched him, and it hurt him. It almost felt real, the pain almost physical. Or perhaps those were ants. He smiled a little at the thought. "Sorry the office is a wreck," Phoenix said. He tried to stop his tears. "That's not a manly thing to do, Phoenix," he imagined her telling him. "Tsk, tsk. I know you're better than that," she'd say. And yet the tears flowed. "I'm so sorry I let you down," he whispered. Phoenix cried quietly, as not to wake Trucy. Perhaps she was already awake, and listening to him speak, but he didn't care. It's not as if Trucy hadn't seen him cry.

He'd teared up the afternoon of his disbarment. The last chance he had was ruined. It was final. He went home as usual, calm and composed, as he should. He arrived in the office, put his suitcase down, and sat on his desk, just like old times, and he sat there for what seemed like an eternity, letting the news sink in.

The morning was calm, oblivious to his pain. It was over. It was all over, he told himself. He screwed up. "Phoenix Wright: Ace Screwup," he mumbled. A piece of paper sat on his desk, maybe for an upcoming case, one he'd never take—not that he can. He picked it up. It insulted him. He stood up, and walked to the center of the room. His office. He held the paper tightly, his fist aching as he crumpled the dammed thing. Phoenix threw it against the wall and screamed. It was over. He walked over to his shelf, threw the books to the ground. He kicked them. He threw a few against the wall. He screamed, pulled his hair. He punched the wall in desperation, in anger. He hit it again and again, each time making the news clearer.

He was nothing now. Gone was his title as an attorney. There was simply nothing he could do. All the years in law-school are reduced to nothing. Mia's patience was reduced to nothing. His fists hurt. His knees gave way as he realized that everything he's worked so hard for; his title, his reputation, the job that made him happy, was reduced to nothing. Phoenix fell to the floor still in his suit, a bright blue color that he realized hurt his eyes.

He punched the floor. _There was nothing he could do._ He wanted to destroy something, but he couldn't. He wanted to destroy himself, but he can't. Trucy saw his anger. And she simply stood in the doorway to his office, watching him. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't even die. He had Trucy, and it was cruel to leave her alone. He was a failure, but he knew that he wasn't cruel. He can't leave, not just yet. He was trapped, and there was nothing he could do about it. And drop by dammed drop, tears fell from Phoenix Wright's eyes. She saw him break down, and she quietly called out. "Daddy?" she said. Phoenix looked up, and saw her. There were streaks of tears on her cheeks, she was shaking, and she was scared. "I'm sorry Trucy," Phoenix said. "I'm so sorry, Trucy." Phoenix clumsily tried to wipe his tears with his sleeve. Trucy mustered up courage and walked slowly toward him. "It's okay, Daddy. Crying is okay." She knelt beside him and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry Trucy," he repeated.

Phoenix clenched his fists at that memory, and held his breath at how pathetic he must've seemed. He closed his eyes, but the tears found ways to reach his cheeks. He tried to stop this cycle of emotions causing him to cry. He knew he had to be strong for Trucy, so he showed indifference to the situation. He hasn't showed her how much that moment broke him. But what does it matter, he told himself. He knew Trucy knows how pathetic her "father" can be. Mia would be disappointed. Again, the thought of his mentor brought tears to his eyes. "Crying isn't the manliest thing to do," she once said, "however, sometimes it just happens." He let a few tears fall as he remembered her words. "Let it all out," she told him in the past. "Let it all out so it won't bother you so much anymore. Some people say that works, and hey—it proves that you're still human," she said once, when he was upset with Dahlia. "It's okay, Phoenix. I cry too. Now... Just get it over with!" He smiled as he remembered her annoyance at his sudden depression; Mia being a workaholic and wanting to get him back on track to review for the bar. He smiled. In the first time in about year, he let himself cry once more. He was smiling too; he smiled even more at how stupid that must seem. He really must be slowly going mad, he thought. Perhaps his spirits are really that broken. He closed his eyes and let the tears flow. Phoenix cried about his condition, for the first time in months.

After all, Trucy did tell him, "Crying is okay."


	4. Reality Gave Him Trucy

Eventually the tears subsided. The tears stopped, but the pain did not. All it did was numb him slightly, but that was good enough for now. The pain he felt was reduced considerably—from sharp jabs to a dull ache. He changed his position; his legs were starting to numb after sitting awkwardly on the floor, his back hurt from leaning on the sofa without the pillow to support his back. He wondered where it went, then noticed it lying discarded a few feet away from him. "How in the world did it get there?" Phoenix said to himself. He smiled. He looked up, and saw Trucy's blanket covered over her face. The smile subsided. Trucy saw him cry. He should be more considerate—Trucy gets stressed easily when he's emotional, whether or not he shows it. She just knows. She gets tense, she starts to worry, she loses her appetite. Phoenix sighed. Now, how stressed would Trucy be when she sees him both crying and smiling and cursing the world for not helping him understand why he's such a wreck, all at the same time, Phoenix thought. He sighed.

Twenty minutes have passed. It's time to check her temperature again, Phoenix remembered. He didn't want to. He was tired, for some reason. "It can wait," he said to himself. "Trucy would be fine."

He closed his eyes, and quietly, time ticked on and passed him by, just like that. Momentarily, he thought about nothing, and let the seconds tick. He listened to the wall-clock and Trucy's light snoring. Phoenix Wright: a failed attorney; a jobless, hopeless, young man, with a broken reputation—worthless. But time doesn't care about the trifling details, and passes him by all the same. Trucy doesn't care either. He is known to her as "Daddy," and that is all that mattered to her. A man to feed her, to pay for her schooling, to give her moral support and to act as a father figure to look up to. And she loves him unconditionally, because she has no one. And Phoenix does the same. He didn't want to be alone, too. Neither did Maya. No one did. His thoughts wandered back to that night on Maya's birthday, with just him, just Maya. In the office, together. No clients to worry about, to cases to discuss. Just her, the office, and the hangover migraine that was starting to form in the back of his skull. Those quiet times. He missed them. He didn't deserve them, but he wanted them back none the less. But he won't. Of course. Not anymore, after what he'd done and what he'd become. He deserves nothing anymore. He opened his eyes and looked at the wreck of an office. Trucy deserves better than this, he knew. Trucy deserves a better father. He deserved nothing—nothing at all. Trucy believed otherwise. Trucy always believed—of course, Trucy has the unaltered viewpoint of a child. His thoughts wandered back to the time he tried to explain the hows and whys of his situation—back to the time he was still struggling to accept it himself.

"If you didn't do anything bad, you shouldn't worry! Everything will be fine," she said. Trucy leaned towards him, and he stroked her hair.

"It won't, Trucy," Phoenix said. "Nothing we can do anymore," he said quietly.

Trucy stood up, frustration radiating from her. "But Daddy, why?" Phoenix looked at her in slight surprise. "I don't understand, Daddy!"

"I don't know, Trucy," Phoenix said. "No one knows."

"It's not your fault, Daddy. I believe you," she said. Phoenix sighed.

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is," he said. "It's over for me—well, for this profession, at least."

"But that's not fair!" she said. She jumped up and down for emphasis. "Why, Daddy? Why?"

"Adults aren't fair sometimes," he told her. "It's just how it is." Trucy looked at her feet, sensing finality in what he said. She looked up at Phoenix with an expression he can't exactly explain. Determination, maybe? He did not know. Trucy sat back down, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

"We'll find a way through this," she told him gently. Phoenix inwardly cringed at the sincerity of her words—the at the girl's innocent belief that there is good in every situation. "We'll make it out just fine," she said.

Phoenix snapped out of that memory—it brought back thoughts of that dammed case. That case wasn't his fault. anyway, and he believed it. He knew he didn't do anything wrong. But still, he screwed up. He destroyed everything with his own hand. Own effort. Own thought. Everything was all of his own doing. The thoughts cropped up, one by one. "Popping up like mushrooms," someone once told him; maybe a quote from an old client or Maya. He hated that case, and he hated being reminded of it and everything that followed. It was a vicious cycle of destructive thoughts, and he was afraid. Afraid of what? He did not know. It came from his thoughts, and his thoughts came from himself. Perhaps he was afraid of destroying himself, even though that was what he wanted to do so badly. It was almost as if some strong external force was working against his favor, in everything that he did. He tried to fix everything, and every time he tried, he was shot down—every time, he failed. He lost everything, and turned everyone who could help against him. All of his own doing. The walls of the office were closing down on him. "Stop," he said. "Stop, Phoenix."

It reminded him of that time he was in the restroom, just him, just the razor. The walls were closing in on him, too. The sky was falling. That's what if felt like, but for a single moment, everything stopped. His life hung by a thread, and all that mattered that moment was his choice—to cut or not to cut. He felt like was in control of his life for the first time in months. And it felt good. He cut himself lightly, just to check if the blade was sharp, and so he'd feel what it felt like to be alive.

"Stop, Phoenix," he said. He took a deep breath. The ceiling felt like it was on the brink of crushing him. He knew it was all in his head. He took another breath, then closed his eyes. "Goddamn stop."

He hated that case. He felt like everyone and everything was conspiring against him. Everything he did turned against him. He did the right thing, and even though he did nothing wrong, shit happened.

No, he told himself. He did do something wrong. He just didn't know it. He wasn't set up, he was just stupid. Too stupid to realize he was committing a sin, a crime—name the all the synonyms, because what you call it doesn't matter. He made a mistake; he knew it was human to do so. He didn't mean it. But it didn't matter whether he meant it or not. All that mattered was that he did. Was it fate? Coincidence? He didn't know. He didn't trust himself. He shouldn't trust himself. "Right?" he said to himself. When he felt the cut sting, he smiled to himself, for some reason. That moment, everything felt clear. Maybe if he tried again, maybe if he were stronger, if he weren't afraid—maybe—just maybe, everything would be alright, because every day seemed empty, surreal. Maybe this was all a dream, and he'd wake up, with Mia, in the old office, with her reviewing him for the bar. But this isn't a dream.

He felt his thoughts scramble; for a moment he didn't know what was real and what was not, what was a figment of his mind. Is he really a failure? He says yes, he says no. Which one is Phoenix, he asks himself. That case haunted him. Maybe everyone hated him from the start. Maybe that case just gave them a reason to do so, to justify that hate. Nobody liked him, anyway. Trucy just relied on him. Nobody wanted to be alone. Not Trucy, not him, not Maya. And that is why everyone stayed together.

"Stop," he said. He hoped with every fiber of his existence that this was all a dream. A terrible dream.

But this was reality. He knew it, too, with every fiber of his being, that everything is real. Everything happened, he had no idea why things turned out the way they did, but that's just that.

And if that's how things are, then he didn't like reality all that much. Maybe he hated reality, and what it has done to him. Maybe he didn't want to be awake anymore. What was Adrian Andrews thinking when she tied that noose? Maybe all she wanted was to fall asleep forever. Maybe all she wanted was to wake up.

Maybe Phoenix felt the same, that moment. Or maybe he just felt confused.

Phoenix stood up, adrenaline suddenly rushing into his system for some unknown reason.

"Daddy?" Trucy whispered. She looked up to him, her eyes with some sort of emotion Phoenix couldn't read. She looked at him and Phoenix stared back. For a few seconds they just stared. "You must be tired, Daddy. You should rest."

"I'm okay, Truce," he said. Again he could feel Trucy analyzing him. It was eerie, yet interesting to see how she could sense every little change in his mood. The adrenaline rush seemed to have faded; the mere sight of Trucy calmed him down.

"I'll take another nap," she said. "Daddy, don't leave me. You should rest."

"Sleep well, Trucy," Phoenix said. She glanced at him for a second, then shifted her position to sleep. She must have noticed him noticing her noticing him. He smiled slightly at the paradox. "I promise I'll stay, Trucy. I promise."

Phoenix sat back down, this time with the pillow to support his back. For a few moments, he thought Trucy was asleep. "Daddy?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Truce," Phoenix replied. "I love you."

There was silence for a few moments. Phoenix analyzed what he just heard, and what he just said. He was stunned by the honesty of those words. Not just Trucy's, but also his. He hated reality, but he loved his daughter, and only now did he realize how much he meant to her.

Trucy is the reason he would never leave this reality. He promised her he'd stay, and he will. Reality gave him Trucy, and he's not leaving her before his time.

"I love you, Trucy," he said. She was asleep, and no one heard him but the stale office air. "I really do."


	5. Given Up

**Author's Notes:** Not the best... I don't know what happened. I feel like my quality dropped or something. Oh well. And the huge delay.. :| Sorry. Enjoy chapter five, guys!

* * *

Phoenix felt thoughts pulling at him, from all directions. He heard that phrase before—of course he had, it's a common phrase. But where and from who did he hear it before that he is so bothered by a memory he so instinctively blocked? "I love you," he repeated to himself. Calmly, slowly. It was an afternoon just like this, circumstances different, but an afternoon all the same.

"I love you." He heard her say it. Maya. She said that with a quivering voice. Maybe she said that because that is what people say during times like that, or maybe she said it so Phoenix would feel comforted that someone cared. But no—Maya didn't care, now, did she? Phoenix thought about that for a while. Maybe what she meant wasn't love. She needed him, and she needed him dearly. He felt used, somehow. He was nothing but a pillar of moral support. "Sadly, not much more," he thought. Maya wanted someone to care, and she "loved" that person. She wanted someone she could use as a pillar of strength. And Phoenix felt used. She just wanted to give back to him by providing him false comfort and false hope. She was never suitable as a lover. She was an ordinary friend. And Phoenix was her pillar of support.

He remembered that moment he realized that, and he remembered how confused he was. Maya was kind—he knew that. But he just couldn't bear to be with someone that brought back memories of that case—and even if she didn't, it was hard to be friends with someone who only wanted to be be with him to feel loved. His thoughts slowly solidified, and he felt himself step back into that snapshot of time. He knew she was kind. He didn't know if she meant him harm, but he didn't know if she actually loved him or not.

She visited him, once. In the office, early afternoon. It was strangely reminiscent of Maya's birthday, that afternoon he kept locked away in his mind. He blocked out the bad with the good. Blocking out the memory of Maya's screaming voice and harsh tone is a skill he still needed to master. Same weather, same room. Different time, different circumstance. That afternoon was precious to him, the second to the last day he saw Maya. The last day itself, he hated. It broke the illusion of a perfect goodbye. He pulled his thoughts back to that moment in the train station. Maya decided to stay the night. She made a few calls back home, asking the mediums to come to the city on their own, very early, to catch the morning train going up the mountains, also asking them to bring her luggage. Maya and Phoenix cleaned the office. They watched some Steel Samurai reruns. They kissed. She fell asleep on the couch, Phoenix on the futon. The next day, Phoenix saw her off. Maya and him parted the next day, peaceful, happy. He forced himself to step into that memory, to escape once again from the reality he hated.

It was a nice morning, the sort that you take pictures of because of how simply beautiful everything seemed. It could end up on front page, that photo. The two decided to walk to the station, and slowly, as they walked, dawn broke and the navy blue sky turned pale pink. The station was deserted, other than a peculiar flock of purple clad women. There were lots of mediums; a few old, wrinkled, giving Maya glances filled with doubt of her leadership, but also of slight reminisces, with them remembering their times where everything was a challenge and they were young, vibrant, and ready to face the world. Just like how Maya must've felt as she stood on the train station. Phoenix thought. It was a pleasant sight. Old ladies' faces slightly brightened up with hope of a fresh new future for the village, some young mediums, giddy with excitement at their first visit to the mountain of Hazakurain, Mystic Master Maya Fey glowing in the light of early morn, and the train station, empty except for them, the air smelling slightly crisp because of the slight mist in the morning. It was a beautiful sight, and Phoenix felt honored to see something so simple viewed in a way it was elegant.

The train came, and she left; waving at him from the window, smiling brightly. "Goodbye, Maya," he said. She was out of sight, and Phoenix sighed. He'll worry about her for sure, he thought. Aloof as always. He sighed. Phoenix stepped out of the station, and realized the sun has gotten ready for the day. The sky was blue, the sun was bright. And Phoenix started a brisk walk back to his office, where he would get ready himself for his day's load of cases, business as usual. A perfect goodbye, in a way.

It was a beautiful day. Nothing could change that memory. The past can never change.

"The past can never change," he said to himself. Again, the words simply rang out in the office, no one hearing but the sleeping Trucy and himself.

Again, the sentence echoed in his head.

He'd given up on changing the past. And the future would be whatever it would be.

And the past crept up on him like the cold air creeping up his legs. And that's what the past does, he thought. He let it creep up on him and swallow him slowly, because that's what the past does.

* * *

"The past can never change, Maya," he said. He started pacing the room. "That's that."

"You can't just deny what happened, Nick! I mean—look! Look at this place! It's a wreck! _God!_" she screamed out. "A wreck!"

"It's okay." Maya stood up and stared. She was short but she radiated some aura of power. Phoenix sighed. "She really is becoming a master, all right..." he thought. He was all but immune to it. "I can handle it," he said.

"No you can't. You need help—"

"I don't need it," Phoenix said. His voice was calm and composed. "And I'm not in denial."

"Nick...?" Maya said. "You are!"

"No." Phoenix took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Syllable by syllable he spoke. "It's over. I'm done," Phoenix replied.

"You're gonna give up, just like that?" she shouted. Phoenix opened his mouth to reply. He didn't speak for quite some time. He tuned his back on Maya. Finally, he spoke.

"Yes."

"No," Maya said. "No! It's—you can't!" She was screaming now. "But Nick! You're not like that! I know you! That is not Phoenix Wright!" He cringed. He tilted his head slightly and saw Maya. Her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed in frustration. "You.." Maya paused. Phoenix knew that she was lost for words. He saw her shiver slightly, then bite her lip, hard. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again when no words came out. Phoenix did not reply and watched her. Maya Fey is breaking down, he thought. The master is lost for words and about to cry. Maya looked down and quietly mumbled. "You're s-stupid... Nick..."

"I'm sorry."

Maya stood in silence. Phoenix felt her stare boring into his back. He didn't care—he was immune to such things.

"W-why?" Maya said, her voice quivering.

"Because there's nothing else I can do," Phoenix answered, his voice breaking slightly into a whisper. He inwardly shuddered at how true those words were.

"I-If you give up, you're a loser."

"Then that's what I am."

She was silent.

"I've given up," Phoenix said, and the office was blanketed in silence, other than the ticking of the wall-clock and their silent breathing.


	6. A Memory of Mia

"Given up, huh," Phoenix mumbled to himself. That was something Mia would never let him do. He tried to shut his thoughts up. Phoenix glanced up at the wall-clock, mentally taking note of the fact that Trucy will need to take her meds in twenty minutes. She was still asleep. He got another dish towel, soaked it in melted ice, and placed it on her forehead, switching it with the warm one. He leaned back, silently cursing in his head, praying to whoever is out there to make him stop tormenting himself. Phoenix closed his eyes again, blocking out every ounce of thought with a warm memory.

He wished that he would wake up, maybe as a law student, on an old receptionist desk Mia got for him, with drool on his face and a piece of paper stuck to his cheek, with good old Mia scolding him for falling asleep for the nth time. Then she would go out of her way to give him a quiz so what he studied up would sink in, which he would fail since he wasn't all too used to all-nighters. "Didn't I promise you that I'll help you pass? It's no magic trick. Study—_study, _Phoenix!" she'd say.

Then she'd serve up coffee, lots of cream and no sugar for him, black for her. She'd drink it quietly, and she'd pace around the office. Sometimes she sat, on a seat near the window. His desk wasn't too far, and Phoenix usually observed her. She'd grip the mug tightly, sometimes, then close her eyes. He'd asked her why she always had black coffee during all-nighters; she puts creamer and loads of sugar in it during the morning, and she doesn't look out the window wistfully while drinking that mix. She'd smile at him, and tell him to get back to work. Yet every time he noticed it, he'd ask again, and every time, he'd get the same response.

But once, during an ordinary night, he noticed her quieter than usual. She set it on the windowsill, next to the place she often sat. She watched it, steam flowing up slowly, the street lamp's reflection on the surface, the little ripples from her breath—everything. Phoenix never saw himself so absorbed in all those little details before, and neither has he seen his boss in such a state.

"Hey boss," he said.

"Yes, Phoenix?"

"Why do you always have black coffee during all-nighters?" he asked. "And what's so interesting in it, that you keep on staring at it?"

"Hm, and may I ask why you keep on staring so intently at me?" she said with a stern voice. "Phoenix?" Mia's eyes narrowed, and she glared at him.

"It's not that I'm—uh.. B-Boss, I-I.. was just wondering—uh.."

"It's all right, Phoenix," she said. She stared at him normally, then lectured him. "You should stop being so afraid of people glaring at you. There's more where that came from in the courtroom." She tilted her head to the side, then continued. "Nervousness clouds your judgment, Phoenix. It won't do you any good once the time comes."

"H-Huh?" Phoenix said. "I-I wasn't nervous!" Mia sighed, then shook her head.

"And as for your question, here's my answer." She smiled. "It's nothing, really."

"Nothing?"

"It brings back memories," she told him. She gave a sad smile, then glanced at the window. Phoenix followed her gaze. It was a full moon. She pursed her lips together for a second or two, then looked back at Phoenix.

"Memories of what?" he said. The woman in front of him didn't seem like the Mia Fey he knew. Not the boss sort of Mia. This Mia seemed lonely, maybe even sad, he thought.

"A lot of things..." she said. Her voice trailed off, and everything was quiet. She closed her eyes for a minute, or maybe ever two. She opened them again, this time holding an expression Phoenix couldn't read. She glanced at him, and sighed lightly—very lightly, but enough so that her breath would blow away a tiny hint of the coffee's steam. "Weird, isn't it?"

"Not really," he said. "I don't think there's anything weird about that at all."

Mia smiled. Phoenix saw the ordinary Mia slowly fade back. Looking back, even after all the days they spent together, he realized that maybe he never really did know Mia Fey as much as he'd like to admit. There was always something she kept secret, that she never showed him, even though they'd been through quite a bit of things. Like the moon, Mia was. Waxing and waning, but there was a side to it Phoenix never saw.

"Has Maya told Mia about his disbarment?" he asked himself. He tried not to think about what Mia would think. After all, Mia was dead. And Maya... Well, he'll never see her again, either. Nothing remains of the two except this office and the things in it, and of course, his memories.

**Author's Notes: **I'm back! And I'm sorry for the delay. I'll spew out some more chapters soon. I've been busy... Oh yeah, and I'm wondering.. Should I upload one of those cover image things? I'm not so sure about what I should put and such... Oh well. If you're reading this, please review. It makes me so happy to see reviews... Makes me more motivated and such.


	7. Edgeworth and Irony

Phoenix sighed. This was all a dream, he remembered telling himself. A weird dream. He always had weird dreams; this was just more real and painful than most. It was a sweet hope, something to hope for when things were bleaker than usual. A dream... He'd be more than happy to leave this mess of a life he was in and trade it for a fresh start. But then, there's Trucy, and he couldn't leave her here alone. But probably she'd be with her real father still, if ever he had this chance to go back in time and make a different choice. He sighed to himself. No way can he defy the laws of physics and reset things. This can't be a dream if he's never woken up. Maybe he's in a coma? Maybe that's why, however hard he cut, however hungry he felt, however painful things hurt him, he never woke up. Maybe that's all he is, a man trapped in a shell of a body, waiting to be set free. Again, he stopped his train of thought before it verged on the topic of suicide. That's bad.

But still, the premise of everything bad that has happened to him being nothing but a bad dream was one of the things he held on to that kept him hopeful and reminded him of the happy past. He wondered if that is what Diego Armando thought of, when things were hard for him. Maybe Diego Armando used his memories to escape from the depression he was in. Phoenix doesn't know. He wondered if Mia was disappointed in what Diego Armando has become. It's not like Godot had a choice in what he did; it was only natural—the man wanted to save a life.

He held his train of thought, and replayed it slowly. Phoenix's predicament was the same. He wanted to save someone too—that's what's so good about what he did. Catching criminals and saving the innocent from their fate. That was his dream as a kid. He felt lucky having it become his career. And his office, his famous clients, _yes,_ his career... To some he seemed larger than life. He was starting to gather up fame. He was more well-known than a man with ten more cases under their belt. He didn't earn much, but perhaps he would've if he were given a few more years. He was starting to get the reputation a novice would dream about. And just like that, those things disappeared in front of him. All because of one stupid piece of paper—forged. How could he have known? Phoenix thought. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

And no one believed him, because evidence speaks louder than words. And the evidence spoke loud. Again, he felt his thoughts pull at him. Heck, he let himself think. Maybe it could help, maybe it would help make what he already knows even clearer: The fact that the past is past, he's broken, and his career is over. Maybe he wouldn't be miserable anymore once he let his misery sink in.

_Evidence speaks louder than words._ "Where could I have heard this before?" he asked himself, almost rhetorically. Miles Edgeworth. Who else? He looked back at the memory of a phone call, a phone call that taught him something he realized he had to do: swallow his own pride, and not choke on it.

* * *

"I didn't forge that page, Miles."

"Wright.."

"I swear! Dammit, Miles, I swear I didn't."

"_Don't call me Miles, Wright! _God..." There was a pause in their heated banter, and all Phoenix heard was silence on the other end. "I don't believe this," he said, his voice barely audible. "I don't believe this."

"Miles, I can explain—"

"No, you can't."

"Please believe me! I—"

"I don't, Wright. I'm sorry," Edgeworth said. He sighed. "I don't believe _you. _Evidence speaks louder than words."

"B-But Miles.." Phoenix felt an ache in his throat. Desperation started to creep up on him, and the feeling was terrible. Miles Edgeworth was his last resort. Pride kept him from making contact with his old friend, and so was fear of a rejection just like the one he felt looming over his neck like a guillotine. _"Now what?"_ he said. His voice cracked a bit, maybe from the fact that he was straining his throat, forcing words to spew out, forcing his voice to sound calm when he was anything but. His voice was shaky, nervous, desperate,_ pathetic. _He felt all those emotions he was trying to hide for days show themselves in the way he spoke that one phrase. Humiliating, he thought. Very, very, humiliating. He knew this would happen, and he knew how pathetic he must seem.

There was a moment of silence, and Phoenix felt like hanging up. There was not much background noise, and the silence discouraged him. Edgeworth picked up the phone again. "Wait," he said.

"Yeah...?"

"Here, I'll go write you a check or something, but you can't cash it in until about a month has passed."

"But—Wait? Why?"

"I know you need money, but I don't think you'll need it right _now._ You've got savings. Use that in the meantime." he said. "Here's the thing. They're going to investigate _me_, too. You forged evidence, and I have had rumors spread about me that say that same thing about me. Suspicious if I suddenly hand you a wad of cash right after you get discovered. So don't cash this in right away. I have a reputation to look after."

"I'm sorry Miles... And thanks."

"Call me Edgeworth," he said, "and this? It's nothing. This is simply payback for helping me out before."

"T-Thanks..."

"As I said: Don't mention it. I've got more money than I have necessary, and I'm not exactly planning to buy a private jet." He paused, then continued after a moment of thought. "Odd, isn't it...? You, losing your license for something you accused me of doing in the past? You never seemed the type."

"Y-yeah..."

"There's a word for that. It's..."

"Irony?"

"Yes, Wright. _Irony._ Ironic, isn't it?"

Phoenix nodded in affirmation before remembering that his nod won't be transmitted through the telephone lines. Edgeworth seemed to guess his gesture. Phoenix suddenly pictured him smirking across the phone.

Edgeworth chucked a bit. "Take care of yourself," he said, the end of his sentence said in a way that made Phoenix wonder if he were to say anything more. He paused for a moment. Suddenly, he spoke up. "My time's up. Goodbye, Wright."

"Goodbye, Miles."

"_Edgeworth,"_ he said, then hung up. Phoenix slowly set down the receiver. He sighed to himself, then buried his head in his hands in thought. "What now?" he said to himself. _"What now?"_

* * *

**Author's Notes: Please read and review, okay? Even a simple review is nice.. :) I would really like to know what you think about my fanfic... Really!**_  
_

**I'm going to go write more... And dream up a plot. I actually planned this to be a series of oneshots, but.. It didn't turn out that way, and that's okay... I'll just think of a plot.  
**

**And... I want to upload an image for this fic.. :) But I'm not sure about what it should look like.. Oh well. _Stay tuned, everyone!_  
**


	8. Star Wars

"What now?" That became a thought Phoenix thought constantly. He didn't know what to do anymore. Slowly, he settled into a routine. Wake up. Fix up. Make food, if there is any. If there isn't any, go buy some. Help Trucy with homework. Fix her shirt if it isn't on right. He thought raising a kid would be hard—and it was and still is. Luckily, Trucy wasn't much of a handful: quiet, strangely mature, not picky with her food, and independent for her age. She seemed cheerful for a while at first, then as the days passed, he felt her quiet longing. Her actions were strangely subdued, even more so than Pearl. Days passed. Less smiles. More silence. Trucy missed her father, Phoenix knew. And she tried not to show it.

Phoenix felt like they were the same in that sense. They kept things to themselves, especially pain. Especially thoughts. Especially emotions they couldn't fully understand. Maybe that's a universal thing, Phoenix thought.

He glanced at the wall-clock. Ten minutes have passed. "Her medicine, right," he said to himself. He rubbed his eyes, realizing he was strangely sleepy. Trucy was still asleep, and he felt guilty for disturbing her. "Truce," he said. "Wake up."

"Mmm... Yeah?" she said.

"Time for meds. How're you feeling?"

"I'm okay."

Phoenix stood up, stretched. He remembered what it was like, those first few months of Trucy moving in. Days passed quickly, but Phoenix felt like he was living one day at a time; slow and sad. They followed their routine daily: of school, study, eat and sleep for Trucy; misery, job application, rejection and alcohol for Phoenix.

Phoenix reached forward and got a half-empty glass of water and popped open Trucy's cold meds, letting the metal wrapper-thing just fall on the ground. He sighed to himself when he looked at the glass. "Half-empty," he thought. Before he viewed it as half-full. "Here, Trucy."

She sat up slowly. "Thanks." Phoenix sat back on the floor. "My head hurts," she said.

"Still?"

"Yeah." She handed him the empty glass. Phoenix heard her lie back down. He smiled to himself a little. They'd gotten a bit closer, he realized. The two of them barely talked those first few months. Actually, they just simply seemed to peacefully co-exist. Phoenix served as her caretaker. Trucy in turn did everything in her power to do something useful, be fetching things or helping him clean. Slowly, Phoenix began to notice her little habits, and slowly too, they warmed up to each other. Sometimes Trucy seemed to know what he was thinking before he said anything. It was creepy, strange. He paid it no mind. Day after day passed, so did the nights he spent thinking to himself. His savings steadily dwindled, of course, faster than he expected to, since he was feeding two. He glanced at the small discarded box of some chocolate snack. He hasn't eaten since breakfast. Trucy needed lunch more than him, anyway. "Hungry?" he said.

"Yeah."

Instant noodles it is, then, Phoenix thought. Cheaper, and gets the job done. He sighed. "Same here, Truce." Not a good diet though for a growing kid. He knew that will never be a permanent solution. Phoenix set the glass down on the desk in front of him. He leaned forward, trying to reach it. He set it down, precariously close to the edge. "It was half-empty, and now it's... Fully empty," he thought. For some reason he remembered Mia reply when he asked her that question. He smiled again. Good old Mia.

"It doesn't matter if it's half-full or half-empty, Phoenix. It just matters that there's water there. Drink it, water Charlie, do whatever you want with it. It's water, not enough to fill a glass, but not too little to consider the glass empty. It's smack down in the middle; the water level." Mia stopped pacing and turned to Phoenix, almost dramatically, her stare intense. "And so what? What you call it doesn't matter, what you do with it does." She walked to a chair, sat down firmly and crossed her legs.

"And... That's all there is to it. That's all there is to life." Mia waved her arms around for emphasis. "Man, woman, however society views you... It doesn't matter, nor does it change who you _are,_ Phoenix!" She stood up, and gestured her arms forward. Phoenix was starting to regret asking her the question. "Do something with the time you have on Earth before you die since, well—of course! Life is short! And you have an eternity to be dead," she said. "Everything comes from from something. Everything you do lives on forever, Phoenix. So do as much good as you can, half-empty or half-full." Mia took a deep breath and sat back down. She shot Phoenix a smug-looking glance, almost as if to say, "So, there's your answer. I'm intellectual and deep, so screw you."

"Boss... Why must you be so deep?"

Mia smiled. "I had to study being deep," she said. "Philosophy... My aunt says philosophical things a lot..." She leaned forward, and her large...bosoms caught Phoenix's attention. Mia smirked. "Hey.. Watch your stare, my young paladin."

"Wait—but—uh, I-I mean..." Phoenix saw Mia try to conceal a laugh. She failed and let out a giggle. "Another movie reference, Boss?"

"Can you guess?" she said, mildly amused.

Phoenix smiled. "Easy—"

"What's for dinner?" Trucy said, cutting into his train of thought.

Phoenix blinked a few times and gave his absentminded reply.

"Star Wars."


	9. Smile

**Author's Notes: Ugh... Why is school keeping me busy? And why is my mind spewing out Mia-related things? I should stat another fic just for the Phoenix/Mia feelings... Why isn't my plot moving? Why? Quality is so... Horrible. :(  
**

"Star... Wars?" Trucy's voice trailed off.

"It's nothing."

"I see..." she replied, and sank into thought.

"_There she goes again with her Freudian psychoanalysis,"_ Phoenix thought. "Dinner, huh."

"What do you think is good to eat today?"

"Dunno. What do you like for dinner?"

"Dunno too," she replied.

"Well, you decide."

"I don't really mind, y'know. I'm just happy with whatever you're willing to give me."

"Oh."

The office was blanketed in silence, with nothing but the usual ticking of the wall-clock heard across the room. Trucy was waiting for the rest of his reply but it never came.

"I'm sorry, Trucy," Phoenix said.

"Mmm?" He heard her yawn. "For what?"

"You're not mad at me for not giving you a good life?"

"What do you mean by good, Daddy? I like this," she said. _"Yeah right," _Phoenix thought.

"You like eating instant noodles, having your dad look a bit like a hobo and tiptoeing around the house looking for your scarf?" He knew that Trucy probably had a more comfortable life way back then, with her real father, her real life. This was nothing, Phoenix thought. This life is trash; the refuse of the failed case. The two of them are refugees, huddling together in what seems like the ruins of a decent life. He realized he spoke louder than he had meant too, and in a much harsher voice. It was two steps below accusing her of lying about her being happy.

"You're no hobo," she said, "and even if people say you're one, I don't mind—it's okay. You're a good dad."

"Not really."

"You are."

They stopped talking for a while, realizing that they were sinking back into that pattern of talking in loops.

"Do you miss him?" Phoenix asked.

"What?"

"Your real father, I mean."

"Of course. Of course I would." Trucy pursed her lips. "But—a daddy is a daddy. You're what I have now. Make lemonade with lemons; make bread with flour." She forced a smile, but her eyes were beginning to glisten.

"_Oh shit;_ I made her cry.."Phoenix said to himself. "How tactful of you, Phoenix Bright."

He tried to cheer her up again. "It must be hard," Phoenix said. "I'm sorry." He pictured Edgeworth appearing and disapprovingly wagging a finger at him. "That's no way to talk to a kid, Wright! What is she, _twenty-three?"_ he'd say.

"I'm o-okay..." Trucy's voice shook with the signature hoarseness of someone who's about to burst into tears. Phoenix often forgot he was talking to a child.

More silence. Time passed slowly.

Suddenly, Trucy smiled. "It's fun, y'know. You and me and Mister Charlie. But I'm tired of noodles," she said. "That is all I'll complain about."

"Well... I can't exactly cook."

"Well, I'll learn how to! It doesn't seem hard."

"I'll save up for a microwave so we'll have other stuff to eat."

"Like popcorn?"

"Yeah." Phoenix continued. "Popcorn and hot canned soup and maybe even microwave cookies."

"I think it's possible to make roast stuff and rice meals there... We should do that sometime."

"That's a good idea."

"Isn't it?" Trucy smiled at him. Surprisingly happy, the fact that she was about to break down in tears a few minutes back almost nonexistent.

Phoenix nodded. "Yeah." Trucy's face was cheerful. It was from her that Phoenix learned a life lesson:

Always smile. Goof off. Sadness can't be hidden, but it can be overpowered. Trucy's happiness hid her pain. Why couldn't Phoenix hide from his?


	10. She's Dead To Me

_**Author's Note: **Big school presentation tomorrow and I still have sleep debt for my past all-nighters, and it's 10PM and I'm sleepy. This is why I haven't updated for so long—I'm so sorry! I had exams, and we had our Career Assessment Exam thing, and we had to catch up with lessons since classes got suspended for a week since there was this storm thing, and I forgot all about this fic, and then, yeah. Tomorrow, I have to recite something I haven't even memorized and yeah. I'm rushing a bit, so not a lot of emotional moments in this chapter, and forgive my non-native-speaker English. _

_However, I planned something for next chapter. (I'm not the type to plan, but oh well.) I hope the quality turns out okay._

* * *

"So.. Dinner," Phoenix got up and searched for his wallet. He spotted the old piece of leather and dusted it a bit.

"Anything will do, I suppose."

He saw a few bills and a lot of coins inside. There was a faded ATM receipt that more or less says "You don't have enough money to feed yourself for a month, much less raise a child." Phoenix sighed to himself. "You want some bread? Or do you want a rice meal or something?"

"You haven't eaten anything today, have you, Daddy?"

"How—" Phoenix started, but he just sighed again. "I had breakfast."

"I'll have what you're having. Or you can choose for me," Trucy said. "You shouldn't skip meals, y'know. My teacher says it's bad for your health."

"Okay, okay. I'll go have something too." Phoenix walked up to Trucy and placed his hand against her forehead. "You still have a fever."

"I'm alright."

"Yeah—yeah right," Phoenix said.

"Promise," Trucy said.

"Hey. You sure you don't mind being home alone?" Phoenix said. "Will this fall under abuse or child negligence...?" he said to himself. "I mean, I'm just going to the store and all."

"Hm?" Trucy looked up."Well, it's not the first time."

"But still—wait." Phoenix paused. "When was the last time I left you home alone?"

"Forgot," she yawned, "but it's happened before." Trucy gave Phoenix a reassuring look. "I'll manage."

"Well, I have to "consider the child's physical, mental, and emotional well-being," blah blah blah, maturity level, and stuff like that," Phoenix says, doing little quotation marks in the air. "You're not exactly healthy right now."

"I can manage," she said. "I don't have to battle ninjas or anything right now. It's alright."

"Uh.. I see." Phoenix stretched a little and walked around. "Well, it's just the store, so that's alright, isn't it?"

"Okay then." Phoenix stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. "Love you, Truce," Phoenix said. "Gonna get some food." Phoenix got his jacket and pulled it over his head, mussing up his hair even more. He pocketed his keys. "I'll lock the door. If anyone tries to get in and it's not me, or if some nasty people do nasty things or anything—"

"I'll scream and kick them."

"...Okay."

Phoenix shut the door after him and jogged down the stairs. Orange light filtered through the apartment windows. He marched downstairs. It was rainy, and the sun was starting to set. He gave an annoyed moan. The ground was soggy and wet, and everything was damp and humid. The sidewalk was a bit slippery so he had to walk steadily. It's been a while since there had been this kind of weather. It wasn't exactly summer and it wasn't exactly spring.

It was an afternoon just like this that she returned and paid him a visit. Maya decided to "help" him on a day like this; ended up making him feel more downcast than the weather.

"Shut up, brain," Phoenix said to himself. A man glanced at him. He stared back. The man looked away. Both of them kept walking.

Dinner. He has to buy her dinner. Lunch for him, dinner for her. Is there a word for lunch and dinner the same way breakfast and lunch is brunch? Phoenix thought about that for a moment, but gave up.

"It was an afternoon just like this," he thought. "Rainy and downcast and a little cold." He watched the people walk past each other, not caring. Maybe that's how he would walk past Maya one of these days. Gumshoe, Edgeworth, heck, maybe even Larry. He wondered how they were doing. Hopefully well. Hopefully they were happy. Most likely, they aren't, but usually, everyone keeps that nonchalance about life and general discontentment with it all bottled up. Maybe they just don't care, and ignorance is bliss.

Not caring means being happy? I suppose so, Phoenix thought. He wants to be happy and he knows it. A woman wearing purple walks by.

Phoenix gives her a closer look. A purple hoodie, and black hair. Familiar-looking color, he said to himself.

"Maya..?" he said. He walked closer, trying to catch a glimpse of her face. "You're dead to her, so you shouldn't care," he told himself.

"Maya," he said, lightly, trying to call out at the woman but at the same time being too quiet for her to hear. The woman kept walking and so did he. "Stop, Phoenix. It's over," he told himself. No luck.

"_Maya."_ Phoenix was sure of it. It's Maya. He walked closer; it was unbelievable. It's been a long time since he'd seen anyone of his old friends. Despite that, he felt like shit.

_It's hard not to care._

"Maya!" He tailed her. She walked past others in her usual fast pace. Phoenix was being left behind in a sea of people.

_It's hard not to give a fuck._

"_Maya!" _He pushed through that sea, searching for purple. He saw her. He bumped into some people, mumbled excuse me, and searched for her figure. There she was.

_Past maybe past, but past was once present._

_And memories meant there was something worth remembering; either for cherishing and holding onto, or regretting and praying that it never happens again._

"Hey!" Maya noticed him, she looked back for about a second but kept walking. She didn't see him. Maybe she did but she didn't recognize him. Phoenix started jogging.

_There's something about memories that Phoenix really hates._

"Hey, Maya!" He yelled this time. The woman slows down but doesn't care. Phoenix walks up to her quickly.

_It's the fact that they're so damned hard to forget..._

"_Hey!"_

"Ah!" Phoenix caught her wrist and pulled. The woman turned. His face was as shocked as hers.

"I'm sorry miss, I thought you were someone I knew," Phoenix said. Damn, he thought.

"Oh," the woman said. "I see." She gave him a quick glance, dismissed him as some random man. She pulled down her hood. This "Maya," the woman Phoenix spotted, was no more than some lightly freckled teenager.

"I'm sorry," Phoenix said. He felt like he was sinking. Stupid brain, he thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Goddammit, Phoenix!

"It's alright," she said. "I must really look like that Maya you were yelling about, huh?"

"Yeah, you did," Phoenix said, humiliated. "Startlingly so."

"That Maya, is she dead or something? When you called out to me and I saw your face, it was as if you had encountered the walking dead-" she bit her lip suddenly, then continued in a softer voice. "I'm sorry if I sort of said too much.. That was insensitive of me."

"What? N-no, not really. What made you assume that?"

"That face you made, it's as if you've just lost someone.. It must have been a terrible experience for you," she said. "Just for my curiosity's sake, and I don't mean to pry, is she... Is Maya dead?"

The phrase took him aback, just a little. If he was dead to Maya, then.. To him, Maya..

"Yeah. In a sense, she is."


	11. Headache

**Author's Notes:** **Maya likes burgers, _Mayoi_ however, likes noodles... Eh. I'll just go mix those two together so my job's easier. :D I mean, Eldoon's Noddles makes more sense that way. I'm not all that confident about the quality, I hope you guys keep reviewing so I'll improve.**

**Uwahh, why aren't I imporving?**

* * *

"I'm.. I'm sorry," the woman said.

"It's okay, my bad," Phoenix said."That was really...Stupid of me. I hope I didn't bother you or anything."

"Ah, I see... Sorry, mister." She pulled the hood of her jacket back on, and gave Phoenix a nod. He stood silent for a few moments, listening to the lady's steps as she walked way.

"Damn." Phoenix kicked at the air in annoyance. "Why am I so stupid—looks nothing like her—dammit." He felt like punching a wall, so he walked over to the closest building. He made a fist and attacked the brick wall."Fuckdammit—ARGGH!" It was grimy, dirty and damp from the rain. "Gah, disgusting!" He wiped it on his trousers and looked up. "Yes?" The lady was staring at him, both concerned and confused, as well as about to laugh, but unsure if it was proper. She did have a dead woman's face and all, and she must have viewed Phoenix as some poor grief-sicken man roaming the streets around aimlessly. But dear God, Phoenix thought, he must have looked stupid.

"Mister, are you... Okay?"

"Yes."

The woman walked away slowly. Phoenix didn't move until he was sure she had turned a corner and left.

Phoenix sighed, and walked toward the convenience store. He stopped dead in his tracks. Where the hell is he? He scratched his head. He felt a little lost, but this was the same city he'd lived in for years. His head began to ache.

Same buildings. Same path. Based on the buildings, he wasn't too far from the office—or the _apartment_, in other words. He still kept calling it the office even though it is now anything but. He kept walking in what he felt like the right general direction. It was cold and damp, and everyone else seemed to notice that. The roads were the same, slippery asphalt with an even more slippery concrete sidewalk. There was a park nearby, Phoenix remembered. He thought about going around sightseeing a little with Trucy once things are more stable—not that they haven't been the past few months, but this is barely getting by. Temp jobs weren't a permanent solution, and neither were Edgeworth's checks. He can do better, and he knew it.

He just wasn't working hard enough.

The wind blew gently, carrying flecks of rain and the scent of spring. He felt himself about to sneeze from the pollen, but he stopped himself. He felt like grinning. Edgeworth must be sneezing buckets and cursing the world, resulting in a pissed attitude and pay cuts. "I wonder how Gumshoe's doing," Phoenix thought. Probably better off than him? He did have a stable job and all, and a nice reputation, and somehow, he had Edgeworth and his other co-workers for company. Probably happier? Maybe—Gumshoe always looked cheerful. But better off? Phoenix did not know for sure. It's been a while since Edgeworth last sent a check. He didn't worry about it at all, or so he thought. When Edgeworth first sent him money, Phoenix decided not to rely on them, but as time passed he realized how much of a help they were. He'd probably be homeless without them, and he knew Edgeworth knows that fact very well. How long has it been since that last phone call? Months? Can't be years, now, can it? Phoenix stopped walking and thought back to the last time he received a sympathy visit. He'd forgotten; it's felt like decades. The only contact he's had is the money. Edgeworth's one of the very few who have forcefully kept in touch with him, even sending Phoenix the junk he doesn't need. Any help is help enough, Phoenix thought. If only he realized that sooner, probably he wouldn't have pushed everyone who reached out to him away. Though if Edgeworth suddenly forgets about him, what then? How would he get by? What about Trucy?

This is why he shouldn't trust people's help. He shouldn't rely on others for help, and he promised himself that. Trust leads to nothing but disappointment. Even Edgeworth has his limits—heck, Edgeworth gets pissed more easily than most.

He smirked. "Edgeworth," he said. "Finally Edgeworth." He no longer called him Miles, he said to himself.

He crossed the road slowly. There weren't any cars anyway, so why bother rushing? He decided to take a shortcut in the park nearby, knowing that there was another convenience store closer from here. Not his usual haunt, but close enough. He thought of what he could get for Trucy. Something sweet, maybe? Something like the overpriced cinnamon buns they used to sell in the courthouse?

He paused, remembering that old noodle stand Maya once enjoyed. "Eldoon's noodles," he said. He felt for his wallet. Probably he'll be able to buy some for Trucy, maybe even with some extra cabbage or something. The extra cabbage somehow made it less salty and even bearable. Maya liked the saltiness, though, and Phoenix learned to bear it eventually. It was either burgers or that, and noodles were cheaper. This was Gumshoe's favorite place to eat when there was reason to celebrate, after all; affordable and filling enough. The soup might do Trucy some good.

He sighed. Phoenix thought back to some time ago, when Trucy had just moved in. It has been what? Two, maybe almost three years? She would turn eleven this year, Phoenix remembered. He should start saving up for a gift or something; hopefully Trucy knows what she wants, since Phoenix has no idea whatsoever.

Trucy was his closest friend now. Just the two of them, finding ways to ease their loneliness, finding something called a "family" in the ruins of both their lives. "Though... Trucy's life isn't over," Phoenix thought. "She's got so much to achieve. She works so hard," Phoenix said out loud. Her life is anything but a ruin. It was a building's foundation, and she was building it up herself with brute force; Phoenix being some useless dad that did nothing but give her food and shelter for the first few years of living with him. Phoenix stopped and looked at the sky. He realized he left his watch at the office. It was beginning to get dark, and the sunset would follow soon after that.

Phoenix slowed down his walk for a while. He felt tired for some reason; the kind of tired where one simply wants to fall to the ground. He kept walking at a slower pace. The afternoon sky wasn't all that dark, and it seemed like the rain really wasn't coming anytime soon. Must have been a cloud, Phoenix thought. He pulled up his hood and made a turn. The park would be here somewhere, he said to himself. He couldn't be _that_ lost. A few more streets and another turn, perhaps. He didn't want to keep Trucy waiting. She'd been through enough. Trucy's a good kid. She doesn't have to deal with any of this. She doesn't deserve this. She deserves much more. This wasn't just about food, or buying dinner. It's about his _capability_ to be a father. To care for her right. Phoenix knows he's stumbling through that role.

Actually, it was Trucy who nurtured _him._ Phoenix wasn't the type to show affection, especially during those dark times. They barely talked when the two started living together. After that, Phoenix barely knew what to do. It was Trucy which silently led him on. He wouldn't even have _tried_ to get a job if it weren't for her. He would have given up on everything if it weren't for her. Since when did Trucy stop acting like a child? She had the heart of a child, the innocence, but.. Since when did she have that drive and motivation that Phoenix himself lacked?

Maybe everyone had that drive, all except him. Everyone except Phoenix and his pessimistic, lazy ass.

He's better off dead. Because—"Stop, brain," Phoenix said. He kept on over-analyzing each and every situation from instinct, and it annoyed him. He'll end up depressing himself again. He wondered why his thought-process always led to him getting killed, or killing himself. Maybe he over analyzed one too many crime scenes. He has some screwed up mind, he concluded. "The mind of a criminal catches criminals," Phoenix said. Mia told him that, so many years ago.

* * *

"The mind of a criminal catches criminals," Mia said."You'd be able to catch perverts and sex offenders in no time."

"W-What..?"

"I'm no fool, Phoenix."Silence filled the room and Phoenix thought the silence was so think, it would sound like glass shattering when someone breaks it. She glared at him, and Phoenix felt his blood go cold. "Concentrate on your work, and stare later," Mia said. She laughed.

"Huh?"

Mia pushed her hair back and crossed her arms. "I know you find me hot." Phoenix's face grew warm—the absolute opposite of what he felt earlier.

"You misunderstand—I.. Well.."

"...Though unlike your darling Dollie," Mia said, "I poop." Mia erupted in laughter this time, probably from the "foolishness of youth." Mia leaned back and crossed her legs. "Ah, the days of my youth, like the scent of fresh lemon..." she quoted, with the ghost of a smile on her face.

Phoenix felt himself blush more. "Ah..." He was staring again. Mia noticed, as she usually did, but all she did was sigh. She smiled at him, as if she found him funny. Phoenix darted his eyes away and sheepishly smiled back. Phoenix couldn't help it. Smooth. White._ Thighs.  
_

He cringed at the memory. If he keeps this up, he'd be a bad influence on Trucy or something, Phoenix thought. He smiled lightly.

Phoenix remembered that the noodle stand moved around. It was late afternoon, so it should be somewhere around the park edge, most likely on the side near the store. He hurried up a little, hoping to catch it before it wheels off again. He sighed. The imaginary Mia disappeared. He should stop escaping the little hurts of reality with his memories; how else could he cope, though?

How else could he cope?

Is he even coping? Yeah, his mood is better than before—before he was almost catatonic. But he isn't happy, is he? He just put everything else on hold. He hasn't made any plans at all.

He couldn't cope. Even with the memories, he couldn't deal with anything. He'd escape from now by doing something distracting, distracting himself with a thought, doing chores, working. He couldn't deal with reality as it is, cold turkey. Without a distraction, he'd start sinking again. He didn't want that. But reality hurt him too.

Phoenix knew he was some weak-willed creature. He smirked. "Screw it." Weak-willed is such a mild way to put it. Ever since college there was someone to look out for him. Larry is useless bum but at least he could manage being alone. Mia managed. Mia cared for him during those college days with her tough love. Once she passed on, there was Maya to watch his back. He'd have some sort of assistant, every single time. Gumshoe was there. Edgeworth was there. Now they're gone, he has Trucy, silently sensing his every thought and guiding him accordingly. She takes care of _him. _Trucy is a_ child._ He's turning_ thirty._ What a mental wreck he is, he told himself. He was a mess without anyone to guide him. Weak-willed is too mild. A better way to put it is spineless. Useless. A waste of air, a waste of space. Disgusting creature. God, what kind of lawyer takes evidence from a child? He had no idea where the page came from, he had no idea why it was with her, but he took it anyway. What kind of novice mistake is that? God, Phoenix, you're stupid. Who the hell takes evidence from a child?

_STOP._

Phoenix ran his nails across his hair. He smoothed out his spikes and tried to regain his composure. _Trucy._

_It isn't Trucy's fault. She didn't know any better. It was never her fault._

Phoenix knew where this was leading. He didn't want his thoughts to go there. It annoyed him that today seemed to be a day for reminiscing. "Good boy, Phoenix. Now shut up and concentrate on your walking," he said to himself. "STOP." he thought. "Wasn't that used in telegrams to end sentences?" Yes, it was, he realized. Who invented the telephone, Phoenix? The name's like a cookie and a bell, that much, he knew. He forgot the name itself. What about the telegram—who invented that? He knew that he had to keep pushing his thoughts onto something unrelated to keep them away from the nightmares. The living nightmares, actually. He looked up. The sky was cloudy, and getting dark. He should hurry up a little; Trucy's waiting. He looked in front of him, then behind him. "Where the hell am I, again?"

"Geez," Phoenix said. He walked past this post twice, he was sure of it. He felt a little dizzy—Trucy was right; he hasn't eaten anything all day, and the hunger was taking it's toll on him. Phoenix realized that he'd had a headache for the past few minutes. He stopped and reached up to rub his temples. "Argh.." No wonder she was worried, Phoenix thought. He was too preoccupied thinking to realize his head was aching. Other than that headache, he had another problem. He was lost. "Stupid 'not Maya' lady," he mumbled. He added the word "ibuprofen" to his mental grocery list. He crossed it out again when he remembered the amount of coins he counted earlier. Probably he could take some of Trucy's cold meds and hope they do the trick.

Trucy, Trucy. Phoenix realized how much he couldn't give her. He felt like a failure as a father. He closed his eyes for a second and kept on walking. "Stupid migraine," he mumbled under his breath. His head felt like it was made of lead.

He may not be the best, or he may not do it fully, but he'll try his best. He won't be a good provider, but he could give himself credit for trying. He'll work harder. If anything, Phoenix swore to pull his own weight. Edgeworth's checks—if they do come—are for Trucy now. Every last bit will be for her. Schooling, clothing, emergency fund, miscellaneous needs.

He swore not to be a father Trucy would be ashamed of. He can't afford that—she's all he has now. She may be clinging to him as nothing more than a source of food and shelter, but he swore. He was going to do his job as damn well as he can. She felt at home with him, in that old office of Mia's. He didn't want her to be thrown into a foster home without some pillar to look up to. She felt at home here, and she isn't leaving until she's ready to be on her own. Phoenix had to take matters into his own hands.

She wouldn't grow up without a father. Phoenix made sure of that.

* * *

Phoenix stumbled.

His headache worsened and he felt like retching in some dark damp alleyway.


	12. I Know

**Author's Note: Well... It's been a while. A long while. Blame writer's block and real life for leaving me so busy and too tired to think up of what to write next. **

** I have exams coming up tomorrow (minors) and majors next week. :| Why do ideas only come when I am busy as heck?**

**Anyways, thanks for reading. Read and review, please! Reviews make me write more~!  
**

* * *

Phoenix trudged forward. He fell a few times, nearly slipping on the concrete. He realized that he wasn't wearing sneakers, but his old dress shoes. His lawyerly pair. Probably he put them on out of habit; where he placed them hadn't really moved—they were still the first pair on the pile to the right. It was one of the many annoying habits he tried to get rid of: looking for his badge, fighting the urge to object to someone, willing himself not to get near crime scenes since they pique his curiosity. He scraped them against the ground, trying to get rid of the caked up dirt. He stopped at a corner and leaned on a wall, not caring about how damp and dirty it probably was. He used that opportunity to catch his breath. He felt dizzy. Phoenix rubbed his temples and realized his forehead was strangely warm.

It finally dawned on him—he had caught Trucy's cold.

He cursed at his bad luck.

Speaking of bad luck... Phoenix frantically searched his coat for his wallet. He checked his back pockets, praying to all gods out there that he didn't drop it when he stumbled. He felt a huge wave of calm when he felt the familiar block of old leather under his jeans. He reached into his right pocket and pulled out his wallet. He'd already cleared the pictures which had reminded him of times gone, as well as thrown away the tiny razor blade which tempted him to cut. He felt around in the coin pockets, checking if there was still enough left. He already knows how much, but he checks just in case it somehow multiplied. He counted and recounted. It didn't multiply. His fingers brushed against some stone in the adjacent pocket. He pulled his hand away. It was Maya's magatama. He didn't have the heart to get rid of it or even put it somewhere hidden. He'd held on to it for years, and... It'll stay there with him.

The glowing green magatama... He remembered her every time he saw it. Even the feel of the stone reminded him of her. Phoenix tilted his head back and leaned harder against the wall, wishing that his knees won't give way and have him collapse onto the curb.

* * *

Maya held the small stone in her hand. She smiled lightly. "I remember this." The Magatama looked like a teardrop with a hole from Phoenix's angle. "Pearl's powers."

"Yep." Phoenix felt odd at her calling Pearls without the nickname. He was about to point it out, but Maya smiled at him, and Phoenix decided to let it slide. "It's what I use whenever you get yourself in a mess and ask me to bail you out." He placed it gently on Maya's outstretched palm.

"Who knew this rock would be this useful?" Maya said. _Rock? _Phoenix was always under the impression that the Magatama was a precious heirloom. Probably he was mistaken. Maya handed it back to Phoenix with a sigh. "She was always stronger than me. I bet it's inborn."

"Hm."

"Pearl was really meant to be the true Master. It's in her blood," Maya said. "Pearl is considered a prodigy because she isn't a direct descendant of the bloodline. It just skipped a generation, that's all. If she were the _Master's_ daughter, though, people wouldn't be so surprised." Maya took a deep breath and bit her lip.

"Even so..." she said. "She's remarkable." Maya stayed silent for a while. Phoenix paused for half-a-second. Since when did Maya drop the "Pearly" nickname? He decided not to reply. Maya continued.

"If they'd just told me to step back, well, I wouldn't have minded._ I'd understand._ Well, at least _now,_ I would. But maybe back then, I didn't understand so much. I would've been really confused." Maya said, her voice getting strained. "But after I thought about it a little, it makes sense. Aunt Morgan even went to such lengths..."

"It's water under the bridge," Phoenix said.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Maya asked. He nodded. "I don't want to be the Master anymore, Nick."

"It's been six months." Phoenix leaned back a little, rocking the boat just a bit. "A bit rash, don't you think? Six months."

"Actually, less." Maya gave him a half-smile. "You didn't count?"

"I was busy, so.. Sorry." Phoenix did the math in his head but gave up for he forgot when Maya had left. "Didn't count."

"I did. It's been four. I managed to make up an excuse to go tell you this."

"I have a feeling you have a lot more to tell me," Phoenix said. Maya nodded. "Don't push yourself. Relax. That's why we went boating, so you could get a little stress-relief."

"Thanks," she said. "And oh yeah.." Maya gave Phoenix a little shove, causing the boat to tilt precariously to the side. "Happy Birthday, Nick—advanced birthday, that is."

"It's two weeks from now!" Phoenix said. Maya grinned at him. "Thanks, Maya."

"Once Pearl is a little older, I would pass her the Master's duty. It's gonna be child's play for her, I swear," Maya said. "Sis was better than me at this... Argh, how could she go so soon...? "

Phoenix smiled. "You still chat?"

"Yep! I've made it my duty to disturb her in the afterlife for a little chat every now and then. Also for advice."

"Ah." There was another moment of silence. Master's duties, Phoenix thought. He thought about Maya and the growing pains of the now blooming temples. They needed a leader now more that they ever have in the past decade. Phoenix looked at Maya, stating pensively at the air in front of her. "Have you asked her about... that?"

"I—Well... No," she mumbled.

"Have you set some goals?" Phoenix asked. Maya shook her head. "Then, what do you want?"

"To work here. To work with you, see Detective Gumshoe, investigate..." Maya closed her eyes tight. "I understand why sis loved this place." She blinked a few times, biting her lip.

"Have you told her?" Phoenix asked. She looked at him intently. No reply. "Have you told Mia?"

"Actually, no." Maya sighed, and squeezed her eyes shut. "I wonder what she'll say."

"She loved this place," Phoenix said.

"I know."

* * *

Maya looked at the horizon, which was nothing more than Badger themed rides. People were all around, getting balloons, buying candy, lining up for rides—the usual theme park thing. Phoenix watched her. Time was fast, he realized. It was almost only yesterday that he saw the prototype Blue Badger. It's come a far way from the horrible, scarily undulating piece of badly painted wood. Phoenix grew silent, sitting still and feeling the ebb and flow of the lake's calm waves beneath. He now understood why Maya wanted to go boating; it was calm. He could fall asleep in this boat, Phoenix thought. He leaned back against the boat's edge, trying his best to keep the balance. He closed his eyes and opened them again. The clouds floated idly.

"She loved the village, too," Maya said, breaking the comfortable silence. "She would've stayed there forever if things just didn't..." Maya gestured. "You know."

"I know," Phoenix said, not looking back down. A cloud blocked the sun. The sky was still painfully bright, but Phoenix didn't care. "I know."


	13. Filthy Lawyer

**Author's Note: **Double Update... Don't feel like writing much angst. Can't seem to get in the zone... So yeah. Readers, thanks for not abandoning me. Gimme a review, even if it's short, just to tell me you're still there.

* * *

Phoenix felt tired. How lost was he, and where the hell _was _he? Probably this was hunger taking it's toll. He lied about having eaten breakfast; it's been a while since he'd had something, not like he'd had any appetite lately. The lamp above him flickered on. It was getting late, it seemed.

A lady scurried around not far from him, wearing short shorts and a long blue trench-coat. She was talking loudly into her phone; words laced with profanities and adult innuendos. Phoenix's migraine throbbed more from her high pitched voice. Irritating. He brought his eyes to the source of the noise. It was a woman, a busty woman. She noticed him and raised an eyebrow. Her face didn't look like a day past twenty. She was small, but she looked tall from the three inch stilettos on her fishnet stockinged legs. Phoenix's eyes trailed up, from her wobbly shoes to her fire red hair. Their eyes met for a second and Phoenix looked away. There was something odd about this woman, something he couldn't put a finger on. She tottered forward, chattering loudly into her phone. She glanced at Phoenix. He stared back.

She was close enough to give Phoenix a better look. He observed her the same way he'd analyze witnesses. Curled red hair, fake red, fire red. A small white pair of shorts short enough to see her pale white thighs. The woman raised her chin and stared at him oddly. Uncomfortable, maybe. He didn't care.

_Age: unknown. Female? Most likely. Caucasian, wearing heavy makeup, and her hair, newly dyed and styled._

Was she wearing anything underneath that coat? Ah yes. Phoenix caught a glimpse of a pink tank top, though mostly he saw exposed cleavage with a heart medallion underneath. Phoenix began to cough, his headache returning but not as bad as before. The woman glanced at him again, and crumpled her brow. Probably she knew him, Phoenix wondered, maybe she recognized his face from his old lawyer days. _"And just who might you be?"_ Phoenix thought.

She looked away, annoyed. She continued talking into her phone. "Hee-hee... That was great, babe. Tell your pals." She flipped her hair back. "I'm worth the extra green—_yeah,_ no discount," she nodded. She shot Phoenix another look and noticed that he was still staring. "There's a creep watching me. Call me back?" Phoenix had a good idea of her questionable profession from a glance. It made him think of that time he jokingly thought of getting a job at a strip bar out of desperation. It didn't seem so funny now. "Sure, sure. Bye. Mwah," she said. She flipped her phone closed and stopped walking. She watched Phoenix with a morbid curiosity, her eyes narrowed almost as if to say, "And what creature might _you_ be?", though she kept her lipsticked mouth shut. He stared back, pulling down his jacket hood. She returned his gaze. Phoenix smoothed back the back of his hair. Her mouth fell open, and she stepped quickly back.

She stuffed her phone into her tiny handbag, and tottered faster away. Her hair bounced behind her. The woman had the same hair color as Dahlia or Iris during her college days. Same cut, same shade, but untied and curled.

_Iris._ _Sister _Iris. Phoenix pushed the memory back to the base of his skull. Iris must be either still in jail or in Hazakurain. Who was this woman?

The hooker looked oddly familiar, that's for sure, but it didn't remind him of anyone he knew. The red-head looked at him, then looked away. Her posture strained and defensive, almost as if she was stopping herself from either running away or kicking him in the groin. As she walked farther, she turned to look and he saw her mouth some words. "Filthy lawyer."

"Yes," Phoenix thought. "That's what I am."

He blankly stood for a few seconds, thinking how and why the woman thought that of him. It wasn't fair. He had a right to be here, and she had no right to just judge.

A few more seconds passed and he had a flash of recognition. "Oh shit, that's April May."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Well. There was a looooooong delay. Since I've been very busy and I've spent the free time that I did have on video games.

I wish I get the motivation to continue this. Maybe sometime I'll fix the previous chapters; eliminate them typos from the face of the internet.

Here's some April quotes to keep you company:

**April:** Bottom-feeding, scum-sucking lawyer!

**April:** Fine! I'll talk! You... you win, Lawyer. **Phoenix:** (Yes! Man, that felt good! _It's great to be alive!_) **April:** Why are you pumping your fists in the air? **Phoenix:***cough*

Aaand... My all-time favorite April quote:

**April: **I like a man with a big... Vocabulary.


	14. Dahlia

A hooker. That proved to him that he was really lost. He was near _that_ place, meaning he was a long walk away from the office. He thought he'd ask for directions, but he decided to walk. To wander. The sun was setting faster, the overcast sky turning deep orange and gold. Phoenix wondered how long he has been out; how long has he left Trucy all alone in the office? Probably she's alright, he thought. That was Trucy, after all. She's better off without him, better off with a family. Sucks, though. No one's better off alone, and he's all she has and is willing to have. "A father," Phoenix said. He never pictured himself as a father before. Maybe once or twice, but never seriously. Never like this.

It was an odd feeling, he thought.

He chuckled. He remembered something foolish he had said, when he was in college.

* * *

"Dollie," he said, "well.."

"Yes?"

"I think you and I should start a family." Dahlia's eyebrows shot up. She opened her mouth to say something; he cut her off. "No! Not now, not right away... I just think that, well, I picture myself with you."

"..."

"I don't think this is some fling. Yeah, we're immature, but we'll get past that." He paused, thought, then continued. "I think I want to mature with you, face life together, grow old with you. Maybe even have kids." He'd keep the necklace with him, since that's what kept Dahlia close, he thought. Maybe she'd learn to love him back.

She shook her head lightly. "Don't mention that. Anything like that." Phoenix sensed tension. Dahlia edged away, slightly. She bit her lip, and he saw what seemed like sadness—anger, even.

They were silent for a minute, then gently, she smiled.

* * *

Phoenix walked slowly. He remembered there was a path that led to the Detention center somewhere here. He'd have to squeeze between a few buildings, but he knew he remembered a shortcut somewhere here. Another hooker caught his eye. He looked away and walked briskly.

He couldn't get the woman off his head. "It begs the question," Phoenix thought. He pulled his jacket closer to himself. When was the last time he'd gotten off, he asked himself. "Years," he said.

He slept with Iris once, and he barely remembered it; he was shit drunk and probably high from some drug or another he must've accidentally got from someone else's drink. He just remembered intense kissing, groping, feeling like his lunch was pressing up against his throat, and then nothing. Teenagers, indeed.

Looking back now, he realized it couldn't have been Dahlia; she would have killed him should she have caught him in such a vulnerable state. It was Iris, of course. Whether or not that was of her own doing of not didn't matter to him, Phoenix said to himself when he discovered the truth about the sisters. Iris' feelings were honest. Either that, or he's still as naïve now as he was then. But Dahlia was _Dahlia, _never Iris. Iris had a completely different personality, and she was good at hiding it. The fact that she could seamlessly pick up where her sister left and live without attracting suspicion or seeming off showed him that Dahlia wasn't the only one born a manipulator. Iris, an actress; Dahlia, a skilled liar. There was a difference, but they had talent all the same. He really was smitten, wasn't he? Probably none of that was her own doing. She probably forced herself onto him, convinced him into adoring her. She was beautiful, like her sister. Dahlia's mirror image with less thorns and a conscience; that didn't mean she wanted to love him, though. It just proved that she didn't want another man dead.

* * *

He remembered nothing about the act, only what happened the day after that. The two were curled up under the covers of her dorm-room bed, baby pink covers, now slightly reeking of sex and sweat. His head was hazy, any attempt at recalling the events past gave him only little fragments. He reached out to stretch, but noticed the red haired angel sleeping beside him. "Angel," yes. Those were one of the many pet names he called her. His angel, his honey, his Dollie. He reached out and put her arm around her, making her cuddle toward him closer. She held his arm, tightly, and just felt his warmth. The feeling of her smooth skin and bare chest against him nearly gave him a hard-on. _"Down, boy, down," _he said to himself.

She looked so content beside him, so sweet. He thought that was cute. Now he knows that was him being naive. But of course, a teenager in love does what it must. "Ah, the foolishness of youth," Phoenix said, thinking of how much time he wasted love-struck in art school.

The second she woke, she gave him a blank stare.

"Morning," he said.

"Feenie." The warmth in her eyes returned, and the gaze that unsettled him swiftly disappeared.

* * *

Author's Notes:   
Well. Uhh. Please don't leave me. I'll go do my best and improve the quality. :(

I've got something for the net chapter. I just need to fix it and stuff. :D


	15. Beautiful

**Author's Notes: **Split a loong chapter in three. Polished the first part, and here it is. Please read and review, it's awesome to know that what I write is being read. :D

* * *

He walked to the old alleyway where he thought he remembered led to the road to the Detention Center. There were a few dumpsters against the back walls of these buildings. He'd have to find a way between them, then find a little path that led to the side street that in turn, led to the precinct. He wasn't sure which building that was. He kept walking, hoping that he'll remember once he sees it. For some reason he felt like this side-trip was pointless, and he should be heading back home or to the store, which for some reason, he'd completely forgotten about until now.

Trucy would be fine, Phoenix told himself. Besides, the quickest way to the nearest grocery is by the highway to the precinct. Phoenix walked a little faster. He noticed the wind getting chillier and the sky getting darker. He told himself he'd be home before it would ultimately fade into black and blue. Poetic, his thoughts were, he told himself.

Yes... His thoughts.

His thoughts always drifted, to the past, to his plans of the future, and now to Iris.

* * *

The two of them lay in silence. Dahlia spoke a few times, but Phoenix was to groggy to even care to reply. Still, he enjoyed her company and attempts at conversation.

"H-hey. Can you...?"

"Give you the necklace?" Phoenix reached around his neck and found nothing. He felt around, then noticed it lying on the edge of the bed beside him. "So I _did_ take it off..."

"Yeah," she said.

"You could have taken it while I was passed out," he replied. "Y'know, say it got lost in last night's..." His voice trailed off. "Action."

Phoenix blushed. Dahlia smiled at him lightly. "Last night's action," she continued. "Y-you're... You're really logical, Feenie." She pulled the blanket toward her and covered herself. He reached for her wrist but she pulled it far from his reach. She mumbled. "Didn't think about that."

"Yeah," he said. "Why'd you want it, anyway? You could have taken it." Phoenix sat up and stretched. He noticed he wasn't wearing anything down below. That realization made him blush bright red. He looked up, expecting to see Dahlia laughing lightly at how embarrassed he felt. Her back was turned, her tone shaky and cold. She was mumbling something quietly. "Hm?"

"I-I... I can't do that," she said. "I could have, but I.. I can't." Phoenix thought she's telling herself she should've. _She could've, but she didn't,_ thought Phoenix. Dahlia continued. "I don't just.. Take things, and-and..." She was silent for a while, then she faced him. "I'm.. I'm not like ..." She paused, held her tongue. _Not like what?_ Phoenix thought. She sat up slowly. "Y-you think I'm that kind of person?"

"No! No, of course not." Dahlia stood up, using the pink blanket as a cloak to keep her modesty. _Even after yesterday's "events?"_ Phoenix thought. "Why would I think that?" he said.

"I'm not... Mean," she said. She walked around the room, picking up articles of crumpled clothing along the way. "Remember that, okay?"

"Of course," he said. "You're kind. You wouldn't hurt anyone, Dahlia."

"Y-yes," she said. "Dahlia wouldn't hurt anyone." She sat up and stood, wearing the blanket like a makeshift robe. Phoenix realized the room was a mess, almost as if a storm had run rampant and flung their clothes wherever. One by one, she picked them up.

She placed the pile of crumpled clothes on a bedside table and told him she would freshen up and get dressed. One pile for her, another, on the other side, for him. Dahlia moved too routinely-almost mechanically. It made him feel uneasy. Phoenix reached out to get his jeans, planning to check if his wallet remained intact.

There was an awkward atmosphere in the room; the ticking wall clock made it even more tense. He felt around for his wallet and found it in his pants pocket, as expected. Almost cashless, of course. He opened it up, and saw a little square of colored plastic; it's contents still unused. The contents of which were something he was then shy to mention. "Uh, Dahlia?" He looked over his shoulder and saw her, wearing the blanket like a cape.

"Yes?" she said. She sat on the bed idly, smoothing out the blouse she wore yesterday. It was crumpled.

"Did you use any.. uh.." Phoenix waved the sachet of condoms lightly. "Er..."

"Any what?" she said, her back still turned to him. As he watched her, Phoenix realized how cold it was, sitting stark naked on the bed. Maybe that's why Dahlia covered herself. He realized he didn't see her face the night before, being too hurried, to caught up in what he was doing.

"Objectio—Er.. Protection."

Dahlia's head shot up. "Ah." She faced him, slowly. She blankly stood, halfway through examining her blouse. She lay it on the bed, trying to asses the damage. Even from his angle, Phoenix saw the damage he'd done in hurriedly unbuttoning it. It was crumpled up, stained a bit, with a button or two missing—probably got ripped off. "W-Well," she said. She crumpled her brow, trying to remember. She plopped down on the bed and the two sat in silence. "Er.. _Well._" Dahlia bit her lip and smoothed out the back of her hair. "Well... Well, I think it's a safe day."

"Ah." Phoenix felt reassured. It was stupid of him, to get carried away like that. His mind was still hazy. Never again was he going to get that wasted—that would be his first and last. He didn't even know what crap he ingested. That wasn't just simple alcohol. That's what he got for randomly stealing people's drinks at parties. Phoenix sighed. He let the pants fall to the ground. His shirt was a mess. He couldn't find his left shoe, then noticed it lying by the doorway. He had no idea where his boxers went.

He sat, thinking about nothing. Instinctively, his eyes wandered to Dahlia, the same way any man would react when there is a beautiful woman in the room.

She was pulling on her panties. She looked at him midway, and Phoenix met her gaze. She stood, her chest bare, her lower body barely covered. _This was her, all of her,_ he thought. Dahlia, she was beautiful. Her eyes were blank, her skin pale white, her hair fire-engine red though darker at the roots. Her body was smaller than he had envisioned, and not as well-endowed; only now did Phoenix get a good look. But that was her, all of her, and she was beautiful.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm struggling with writers block but I had a mini breakthrough one night/really early morning and had to battle through intense sleepiness. Forgive the occasional typo. HNGGH WRITING, WHY YOU NOT FLOWING FREELY.

By the way, anyone know Katawa Shoujo? I added a tiny Hanako reference. (Hanako: not my favorite arc, but that line was nice. I loved Rin and Shizune's route!)


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